


That Which We Hold Dear

by springbok7



Series: An Assortment of Teas and Biscuits [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: #TeamRasa, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Carer partners, Dementia, Early onset dementia, Fluff and Angst, Loss of Identity, Multi, established poly relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbok7/pseuds/springbok7
Summary: Q has early onset dementia. James and Alec care for him as best they can while supporting each other.





	That Which We Hold Dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts), [Dassandre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/gifts).



> This was written 24 January 2017. At the time, I was carer for someone I loved very much, my mother-in-law. I miss her. Dearly and desperately. She passed away one year ago today. Ma, unagi donburi and saba in your honour! <3
> 
> Dedicating this little drabble to [Boffin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710), [Ashe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich), and [Dassandre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre). You know why. <3
> 
> Beta-ed by [Dassandre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre), who valiantly dared to not just dip a toe into this but to read it multiple times. You're the champ, babe! All remaining errors and oddities are mine. Also, if you spot any errors and/or feel there should be additional tags, please do let me know. I welcome constructive criticism, but neither support or feed trolls.
> 
> _To my sorrow, I do not own these characters. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from this piece of fan-fiction._

A tap on the door frame, and the single occupant of the room lifts his head at the sound.

An older man stands there, casually dressed in jeans and a jumper, hands shoved into his pockets, body angled gently where he leans against the wood.

He carries himself straight and proud: no slouching, no hunching of shoulders on this chap, his body language is confident and controlled. The room's occupant looks at him for a time, running his eyes over the well-muscled form.  His ice-blue eyes seem sad yet sparkle with mischief at the same time, and the plentiful crow's feet are mute evidence that he is much given to smiling, but the lines that crease his forehead testify to a propensity for frowning. A conundrum to be sure.

The occupant pushes himself up out of his chair, wrapping the long  _ nemaki _ tighter around his lean frame. His hands tremor slightly as he does, their elegance marred by a multitude of old burns, cuts, and other scars.  They are silent witnesses to an owner who was never idle, used to getting his hands dirty, oftentimes quite literally. For now, though, the hands are clean, not even ink stains the translucent skin.

"Please, sit," he invites his guest, and he gestures to the table at which he was seated. "I wasn't expecting company. I'll ring for some tea. How do you take yours? Sugar? Milk?"

His guest nods in agreement to both offerings and seats himself.

The occupant runs a hand through the tousled riot of grey and brown that covers his head, glances around the room, and then steps to the table set beside the large bed. He lifts the telephone and presses the button that is coloured green. A moment later the call connects, and he politely requests a tea service be brought to his room before replacing the receiver in the cradle, unconsciously untangling its cord as he does so.

"They'll be along in just a bit with the tea," he tells his guest as he seats himself in his chair. He runs his hands over the open laptop in front of him, and then presses the cover down to close it before pushing it away.

He leans forward, elbows on the table and his chin resting on his clasped hands, "So, how may I help you?" he asks his guest.

"Oh, I just came to check in with you," the man responds, relaxing back into the chair. "I heard you might be bored."

"Bored? Not likely!" the tousled-haired, bright-eyed man replies. "I have far too much work to do to be bored!"

"You don't say."

"I do, I really do. Oh, I'm terribly sorry, where are my manners, I'm Q," and he stretches his hand to shake; he appears not to notice when his guest's grip lingers,  thumb rubbing across the back of Q’s hand where their joined fingers rest on the table.

The guest clears his throat roughly.  "James," he replies.

"What a coincidence! My husband's name is James," Q replies, smiling fondly. "He's away at the moment, some deep cover mission in Sri Lanka.  You'll need to ask R for the details, she's running that one."

"Yes, your James and I are friends. He  mentioned he'd be off for a bit, asked me to come drop in," the blue-eyed man replies, a shadow passing across his features swiftly before they settle again into a pleasant expression.

"Have you heard from him? They never tell me anything at this hotel," Q grumbles. "M should know better than to keep secrets from me. I'll only hack the servers and find out anyway. She knows that."

James smiles gently and reminds the man who is still holding his hand, "M would prefer it if you didn't cause another international incident with your hacking. You remember how put out she was after that… 'situation'... with Uzbekistan."

The slender man huffs a laugh, "One time, that was amateur's luck!"

They are interrupted in that moment by another man entering the room, built much like James, hair faded to grey, crow's feet laughter lines, but with a faint tracing of burn scars across one side of his face. In his hands he carries a tray upon which is a tea service for three people.

He leans between the two seated men, places  the tray on the table, and then runs his hand through James' steel-grey hair.

"Hello, Alec," Q greets him with a blinding smile for the clear green eyes turned his way. "Look who just got back from that mission!" and he holds up his hand, still firmly holding James'.

James smiles almost as brilliantly as Q and surges forward to pull Q into a hug, burying his face between his neck and shoulder. "I missed you so much," he murmurs into the warm skin as Q lifts his hands to card them through James’ hair.

"I missed you too, love," he tells the larger man. "Did you just get back? Do you need to report in?"

James and Alec exchange a look over Q's head, and Alec gives his head a minute shake.

"No,  _ sionnach _ , I reported in already. I'm all yours for the rest of the day."

Q's face lights up, and he immediately turns to Alec, the question clear on his face.

"Yes, me too,  _ kotenok _ ," and the older man holds out a hand to Q and hauls him to his feet. 

He reaches for James as well, and leads the two straight to the large bed, stripping the nemaki carefully from Q’s still-lean frame and helping him into bed before swiftly joining James in divesting himself of his own jeans and jumper.

The two scarred and worn men slide into the bed on either side of their partner, murmuring softly to him as they do, their hands on his skin gentle and tender, keeping him with them in this fleeting moment. As they settle down, leaning back against the mound of pillows, James holds down a button on his watch and murmurs the necessary commands. He busies himself with holding Q and Alec to him, cuddling Q between them, cradling him tenderly while the projector descends and the movie silently scrolls past the opening sequences and pauses.

"Are you ready?" he questions Q, and at his nod and radiant smile, James murmurs the command to start the show. Snuggling into the soft pillows, he and Alec lace their hands together on Q's stomach and share a look that speaks volumes. They’ve watched the movie a hundred times over.  It’s been picked apart, dissected and laughed at many times more, but they treasure these moments, these precious times, because they know how fleeting they are. 

They laugh at all the right places, they pick up the familiar thread of the arguments they've woven more times than they can count, they mouth the words to each other as Q watches the screen, in turns indignant at the idiocy of the exuberant mercenaries and then laughing himself sick over the craziness that unfolds on the screen. "The Expendables" never fails to provide laughter and entertainment.

Long before the credits roll, the eyes beneath the wild hair slide closed, and the two former spies have crept from the bed, carrying away the cold tea service and their clothing, silent lest they reawaken their slumbering partner.

They pass through the door and close it carefully behind them, leaning against it shoulder to shoulder for long minutes to collect themselves. After returning the tray to the kitchen, they slip up the stairs to the room they now share, checking the video feed from the bedroom downstairs before sliding between the cold sheets and laying their heads on the pillows, their shoulders just touching, their laced fingers resting between their hips.

Both lie awake for a long time, eyes glued to the screen on the wall, the colourless image of a sleeping Q staring back at them in the dark,

Neither knows who succumbs first, but it is somehow morning already.

Time to walk the path for another day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please do let me know what you think: comments are the balm that soothes and sustains authors everywhere <3


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